


Possession

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: During Canon, Established Relationship, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-10-19
Updated: 2006-10-19
Packaged: 2018-09-03 07:34:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8703373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: College town, tequila shots, and a tattoo parlor.  You do the math.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

  
Author's notes: Based on a paragraph from Nymeria's "But This Is What You're Craving" found here: http://ishnaru.livejournal.com/51344.html  


* * *

Dean loved college towns. Fucking _loved_ them. Wondered why the hell he hadn't visited Sam more at Stanford and gone out drinking with his brother. Remembered why, and got morose. Licked his hand, downed another tequila shot, sucked the lime, and felt better. Immediately decided he should have visited Sammy more.

Sam's face was blurry; Dean squinted and rubbed his eyes and watched his brother raise his hand to his lips. Suddenly it was even hotter in the bar - Penn State in December was fucking freezing, and the small bar had over-compensated a little - and Dean hadn't been able to get his eyes off Sam's mouth all evening. He felt his shot glass slip from his hand and clink dully against the sticky surface of the bar as Sam's tongue darted out and licked a damp swathe on the palm of his hand. Dean started to sweat, and he cleared his throat nervously when Sam paused and looked up at him through his bangs.

Eyes firmly locked on Dean's, Sam sprinkled salt on his hand and licked it again, a small smile quirking the corner of his mouth. Dean shifted uncomfortably and watched intently as Sam threw back his tequila and bit into the segment of lime. His entire body shuddered, and Dean had to laugh.

"Dude, that's your _third._ Be a fucking man!"

Sam shook his head, eyes tightly closed and lips sucked in painfully, and Dean's eyes were drawn to a small drop of tequila that had spilled, sliding slowly down Sam's chin. The crappy music playing in the bar echoed in Dean's ears, and without thinking about it he leaned across and licked the drop off his brother's chin. It tasted like Sam and lime, only vaguely like tequila, and he could almost imagine he felt Sam's pulse under the skin.

"Dean," Sam whispered, as Dean slid his tongue over Sam's cheek and up towards his temples. Dean ignored him, leaned forward further, and kissed his brother's hairline. Wrapped his fingers around the loose curls at the base of Sam's neck and pulled Sam closer. He could hear Sam's quickening breathing, smell the lime on his breath, see a crystal of salt on his lip which he'd missed. He could taste the tequila and lime on Sam's skin, and the scent of arousal was thick, intense.

Someone wolf-whistled, and Sam pushed Dean away with a grin and a quirk of the eyebrows which said 'later.' Dean pouted a little, just for show, and Sam cuffed him over the back of the neck and poured him another tequila.

*~*

"Tattoos," Sam stated firmly, weaving all over the footpath as they made their slow way back to the motel room.

"You're trashed, Sammy," Dean slurred, holding onto a lamppost and wondering why it was swaying as much as he was.

"No, I mean yeah, but. Tattoos!" Sam waved his hands around in the freezing air, trying vainly to make his point. Dean rolled his eyes and shoved his hands deeper into the pockets on his coat, wondering what the tequila had done with his Sammy.

"Of what?" Dean tried to be the calm, cool voice of reason, but something in his head had decided that tattoos were a fucking great idea. He wondered idly what he'd get, if he got a tattoo.

Sam grinned slowly and started towards him, very unsteady on his feet and occasionally looking like he might fall over. He stumbled into Dean, his face falling against his brother's chest with a muffled 'oof!', and Dean's arms came around him almost without thought.

"Want you on me, Dean," Sam whispered, his breath puffing in the cold and sending messages all the way down Dean's body. "Want your name on me. Like... you know. A thing. Mark. Label. What-the-fuck-ever."

"Sammy..."

"Cause I'm yours, and. And I want it on me."

Dean inhaled sharply, the rich scent of Sam's shampoo flooding his mind. "Well, I'm real touched, Sammy," he muttered. Tried not to let Sam know how it made him sort of clench up inside, that his brother felt like that.

*~*

It was interesting and quite telling how many tattoo parlours were open at two in the morning in State College, Pennsylvania. Sam chose one at random and almost dragged Dean in by the collar of his coat. Dean was starting to feel sober, and as Sam gesticulated wildly to the girl behind the counter, he bit his lip and wondered what he was doing. When Sam was lying face-down on the table, his shirt on the floor and a light sweat coating his skin from the heat and alcohol, Dean sucked his lip into his mouth and held his brother's hand as the tattoo artist cooed over him and drew _Dean Winchester_ between Sam's shoulder blades. Stark, bald, bare - Sam winced and screwed his face up, and Dean muttered quietly to him and occasionally kissed his knuckles. Sam grinned painfully at him and clenched his muscles against the pain, a single tear escaping down his cheek which Dean leaned forward and licked off like he had back in the bar with the tequila, and Sam smiled softly at him.

All too soon it was Dean's turn, and Sam carefully climbed off the table and helped Dean take his shirt off. The tattooist grinned unabashedly and commented on how cute they were together, and Dean ignored her and lay down on the table, taking Sam's hand and deciding that he would not show any emotion, no matter how bad it hurt.

It hurt, a lot, probably more than Sam's because he was getting his _Samuel Winchester_ on his lower back, and it seemed slightly unfair that Samuel had more letters than Dean, and why hadn't he just gone for Sam? He bit through his lip and inhaled deeply, smelling tequila and lime and seeing Sam's worried face as he held on tight. Sam's face was flushed with pain and alcohol, his eyes were full of heat, and Dean could feel himself getting horny despite the pain. Halfway through he figured he must have gotten used to it, because damn if his dick wasn't almost completely hard, pressed firmly against the front of his pants and almost painful against the hard tabletop. He frowned and tried not to flex his hips, tried not to get a bit of friction going, because, well, he didn't want to be known as that guy who got turned on while getting a tattoo done. Sam grinned at him, recognizing the look on Dean's face, and leaned forward to whisper in his ear, "I'm gonna let you fuck me good when we get back tonight."

Dean bit back a moan and was very relieved when the tattooist left him alone to get off the table. Sam glanced down at the bulge in his pants and chuckled.

"Kinky, dude. Real kinky."

Dean threw a half-hearted punch in Sam's direction, and winced as he pulled his shirt over his abused skin.

*~*

"Mmmmm....." Dean's body felt like liquid, pooled on the top of the rough blankets of the bed. His face was buried in his arms and he was naked, Sam sitting astride his hips and massaging aloe into his new tattoo. It felt wonderfully cool and soothing, and Sam's fingers were rough and warm against his heated skin. Dean felt like he could fall asleep here; he was drooling all over the pillow and couldn't be bothered waking up enough to stop. Eventually Sam stopped, and Dean grumbled sleepily when he felt his brother's weight removed from his hips. He heard rustling, and was about to force his eyes to open and see what was going on when Sam was back, his pants and boxers gone and the firmness of his dick pressed against Dean's ass.

"Thought you were gonna let me fuck you," Dean mumbled.

Sam chuckled softly. "Like you could right now." 

Dean grumbled at the affront to his stamina, but it was true - he didn't think he'd be able to move if the fucking Apocalypse happened. He burrowed his head into the pillows contentedly and wriggled his hips against Sam.

"Easy there," Sam murmured, one large hand skating gently over Dean's hip, the other sliding down between his ass cheeks and teasing his hole. Dean groaned loudly and clenched his hands into fists, and Sam laughed softly. He leaned over and kissed the back of Dean's neck, tongue darting out to lick him, lick the sweat off his neck, smooth and hot and tickling _just a little_ , and as Sam covered every inch of Dean's neck with his tongue, Dean whimpered. He felt drunk again; he'd managed to shake off most of the tequila buzz when he had the tattoo done, but Sam's kisses and licks were having the same effect as half a bottle of the best tequila, and Dean couldn't help thrusting his hips against the blankets, letting them rub his dick until the dry friction started to burn. Sam didn't stop kissing him, the heat and breath and wetness moving down all over his back, skimming just the edges of his tattoo, and when he forced Dean's legs apart and crouched between them, his tongue covering the skin of Dean's lower back, Dean almost bit through his lip.

It was far too hot in the room; Sam had turned the heat up to combat the chill of the outside air, but now they were both warm and it seemed Sam couldn't be bothered going to turn it off. Dean could feel slick sweat on the palms of Sam's hands, could feel damp tendrils of hair tickling his skin, could tell by Sam's breathing that he was getting hot. The close air of the room smelled like sex and alcohol and Sam, and Dean was slowly going insane.

"Sammy?" Dean said, trying not to moan, "Are you gonna...."

"Mmmm," Sam replied, and Dean felt that tongue sliding down further, down into his ass, and he bit the pillow and tried not to scream.

_hotwetfuckohgod_ and Dean was _this close_ to coming all over the blankets, humping the mattress as Sam tongue-fucked his ass. So sinfully delicious, and Dean fixed his eyes on the fugly picture on the wall opposite, trying desperately to distance himself from what Sam was doing, not wanting to come before his brother had a chance to fuck him. His entire body was tingling, whether from the after-effects of the tequila, the endorphins from the tattoo or just plain arousal, Dean wasn't sure, but when Sam stabbed his tongue in sharply, wriggling it around as he squeezed and massaged Dean's ass, he almost lost it.

"Gonna... want you to... fuck, Sammy," he panted. Sam hummed quietly and gently pulled away, and for a fleeting moment Dean wanted him back, wanted him to finish the job goddammit, but then he heard the beautiful sound of a condom wrapper being torn open, and moments later Sam was tugging at his hips, trying to get him up on all fours. Dean slowly complied, head hanging low, cock dripping precome all over the blankets, so hard it _hurt_.

"Gonna fuck you good, Dean," Sam growled, and Dean bit back a laugh at the way Sam was channelling him. He leaned down on his elbows and wriggled his ass in Sam's face, earning himself a slap on the butt before Sam slicked him up and slowly drove himself inside.

As Sam thrust into him, pulling out and pushing in again, Dean started to whine. Every single goddamned time Sam fucked him, no matter how hard he bit his lip or covered his mouth, he ended up whining. Felt his brother's cock inside him, hard and hot and _right there_ , filling him up, sliding slowly against his sweet spot and driving him wild. He whined again, softly, hating himself for doing it, but loving Sam's deep-throated chuckle and the way his brother reached around to cradle Dean's balls in his hand.

"God, Dean, you look good," Sam groaned. "You got my name on you, fuck, you're _mine_ ," and Dean didn't remember where Sam picked up this possessive streak, but fuck it was hot, and he could feel Sam's fingers soothing and stroking his new tattoo. He wished for a moment that he was the one doing the fucking, so he could see his name plastered all over his brother's back, marking him as _his, no one else's,_ but figured there would always be a next time, and suddenly he was there, whining and grunting and coming, and Sam leaned forward again, his hair tickling Dean's back as he kissed his neck and thrust hard one last time.

Sam collapsed almost immediately, and Dean wasn't sure how his brother got up the energy to slide out of his body and get rid of the condom, but then he was lying on his stomach next to Dean, eyes sleepy and blurry with sex, smelling like sin and tequila and aloe. Dean forced himself out of bed and to the bathroom for a quick wash, and when he got back, all he could see was Sam's naked back, with the words _Dean Winchester_ written across his shoulders in stark, black, permanent ink.


End file.
